


Rose Colored Glasses

by The_Bean



Category: Sabrina (1954), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Audreylock, Enemies to Lovers, John is both brothers, M/M, Sabrinalock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bean/pseuds/The_Bean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock goes to London to get over John Watson, one of Long Island's richest bachelors and most infamous cads. When he returns, seemingly bent on disrupting Watson Industries' next big merger, Dr. Watson endeavors to find out whether or not Sherlock has really been cured. </p><p>Mashup of BBC Sherlock & Sabrina (the rom com film, not the teen witch)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chauffeur's Brother

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed. If you’d like to beta future chapters, get in touch. Not Brit-picked, and I don’t intend to since the setting is Long Island. But obviously Sherlock’s still going to have a British accent because it makes just as much sense as Audrey Hepburn’s in the original. 
> 
> I’m not sure how old Sabrina is supposed to be in the play/1954 movie, but I decided to make Sherlock a teen in this chapter since it helped the plot here make more sense. He will be significantly older for the rest of the fic, so rest assured this is NOT teen!Sherlock and adult!John. I’m not sure what decade this is version set in, so I decided to keep it ambiguous. Sometime after cars and phones became commonplace but before cell phones. John fought in The War. Don’t ask too many questions.
> 
> Updates will be few and far between until January
> 
> In terms of trigger warnings, the plot will follow the original pretty closely, which includes a suicide attempt.

_Once upon a time, on the North Shore of Long Island, some 30 miles from New York, there lived a young boy on a large estate. The estate was very large indeed and had many servants. There were gardeners to take care of the gardens and a tree surgeon on retainer. There was a boatman to put the boats in the water in the spring and scrape their bottoms in the winter. There were specialists to take care of the grounds, the outdoor tennis court and the indoor tennis court, the outdoor swimming pool and the indoor swimming pool. And a man of no particular title took care of a small pool in the garden for a goldfish named George._

_Also on the estate there was a chauffeur by the name of Holmes, who had arrived from England years ago under somewhat mysterious circumstances, together with a Rolls-Royce and his ward and younger brother, Sherlock. The elder Holmes was a fine chauffeur of considerable polish, who looked after the eight cars in his care with as much pride as he had once looked after a country._

_It was the eve of the annual six-meter-yacht races and, as had been traditional on Long Island for the past 30 years, the Watsons were giving a party. It never rained on the night of the Watson party._

_There were four Watsons in all -- father, mother and two children. Maude and Oliver Watson had been married in 1905 and among their many wedding presents was a town house in New York, and this estate for weekends._

_The town house since been converted into Saks Fifth Avenue. John Watson, the eldest, graduated from Yale and Cornell Medical school. He surprised his classmates my enlisting in the Army. After being wounded in action, he went to work at Watson industries. His sister, Harriet, went through several of the best Eastern Colleges for short periods of time, and despite several engagements, the best efforts of her parents and a sizable dowry, had remained unmarried. She is now listed on John’s tax return as a 600 dollar deduction. Life was pleasant among the Watsons, for this was as close to heaven as one could get on Long Island._

* * *

 

Sherlock ignored the discomfort in his legs as he used them to brace himself against the trunk of the tree. He had discarded his shoes to have an easier time climbing. With one foot tucked beneath him on one branch, and the other on a slightly lower branch and his back against the trunk, he had a perfect view of the patio where mosts of the guests were dancing. Using only his legs to balance, his hands were free to hold a telescope.

An ensemble in white suites was playing a jazz waltz. One of the trumpets kept slipping out of tune. A man was chatting with his mistress’s husband. The first man knew, the second did not. The bartender was stealing tips from partner. A woman was unhappy that she did not have a new expensive dress to wear and her husband was anxious because they had money problems, but had not told his wife yet.

Sherlock adjusted the lenses on his telescope, and two dancing figures came into focus. John Watson and a giggling woman. Her dress (new and expensive), her jewelry (old and expensive) and her ease in a well-to-do crowd, told him she was definitely old money. The coloring of her hair (darker roots with natural highlights) and the way she wore powder to conceal her freckles told him that until recently she had lived somewhere much sunnier. Probably California. Probably oil money. And anyone could have deduced what it meant when she wrapped herself around John Watson and giggled at everything he said.

Sherlock hated women that giggled like that.

Now John was going over to the bartender and asking for champagne and glasses. Next he would put the glasses in his back pocket, tell the band leader to play _Isn’t it Romantic_ and then he would head to the tennis court. Predictable.

He should be bothered that John treated every woman he pursued in exactly the same way. But for some reason, Sherlock was only more fascinated. Sherlock knew that he was smarter than everyone else except for Mycroft, but romance and sex were something that still mystified him. Sherlock understood the mechanics, of course. But how people went about it was something else entirely. John, on the other hand, seemed to understand intuitively what someone wanted to hear, and said it. And of course, John was much more charming than Sherlock’s peers. What sixteen year old girls found appealing about sixteen year old boys was beyond him. Still, he wondered at the fact that the women never seemed to see through John’s rather transparent seduction attempts. A flurry of boating and dinners and dancing, and then the excuses would start. Something urgent at Watson Industries. Apology flowers would be sent. And eventually she would get the hint, and that would be that. Until the next one.

“Come on down from there, Sherlock!”

Sherlock ignored his brother, and continued to look through his telescope.

More gently, Mycroft repeated, “Come on down Sherlock. You haven’t even started packing yet. We’ll have to leave tomorrow at 5 AM for you to board your ship on time.”

Sherlock remained silent.

“And do remember your passport.”

When Sherlock persisted in his silence, his brother sighed. “You know, it’s not every boy that’s lucky enough to go to university in London. And I had to call in favors from several old friends to get the admissions committee to look past your young age and… spotty academic record.”

Mycroft stopped and looked out in the direction of the docks, and continued, “And if our parents were alive, they would be so happy you were going there -- Sherlock, I know you don’t remember Mummy well, but she was one of the most brilliant scientists of her age. Her work made her so happy. That’s what I want for you. I’m not telling you that you have to be a researcher like her… or a minor government official like I was, but you know how I feel about these sort of people. Content to enjoy what’s been handed to them, not an original thought amongst them. Our parents, myself, we had pride in our work, and that’s as much as anyone can want in this world.”

“Who’s that girl?”

“Which girl?” Mycroft asked wearily. 

“The one in the green dress. I’ve never seen her before. She’s not part of the usual Long Island set. I was wondering if I had deduced her correctly.”

“Her name is Gretchen Van Horn. Oil.”

“West Coast girls are so silly.”

“You think all girls that John looks at are silly.”

Sherlock looked down at his brother.

“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. You understand that? You’ve got to get over it.” Sherlock did not respond, and so Mycroft continued, “and soon you will be surrounded by many of the best young minds in Britain. I blame myself. If you hadn’t been stuck on this estate you wouldn’t have developed this fixation on the closest person with any-”

“I’ll be down soon, Mycroft.” Sherlock cut off his brother.

Sherlock stayed in the tree until he was sure that Mycroft was gone, even though he had lost sight of John. He probably already left to meet Gretchen at the Tennis Courts.

* * *

John cursed his luck. Waylaid by that grating man from General Electric. Of course he had had to be polite, but the hours he had spent with him on that deal back in February had been enough for him. Gretchen was probably wondering where he was. He was in such a hurry that he did not see the figure standing in the dark until he had almost run into him.

“Oh it’s you Sherlock.” John said with a small smile. The boy looked equally startled.“I thought I heard somebody.” John couldn’t be sure in the low light, but the he might have actually dropped out of the tree. It would be the sort of thing he would do. Probably experimenting on leaves or birds or something.

“Hello Dr. Watson," he answered.

Sherlock was always polite and a bit shy around him. Which was strange because he had heard some stories about the younger Holmes’ lack of decorum. John had once gotten him to open up a little bit when he had realized Sherlock had an interest in science and lent him some of his old textbooks.

“Off to college across the pond soon, then? Bet you’re excited!”

“Yes.”

“Well, good luck!” John answered. Frankly, John was not sure that someone like Sherlock really needed a traditional college. He had already digested medical school textbooks on his own at thirteen. “Just don’t spend all your time studying. Remember to enjoy yourself,” John said with a wink. “You’ll have the rest of your life to be an adult!” John waved as he headed to the tennis complex.

John heard Gretchen’s laughter before he even entered the indoor tennis court. He was not sure what she was giggling about all alone in there. Or if she ever stopped giggling. Still, she had some qualities he could appreciate. With that thought, he called out, “Hello there? Up for a game of tennis?”

Gretchen giggled some more. John turned to the sound, and saw her standing on the other side of the net.

John grinned, and started towards her.

“Oh no! Don’t… whatever you do, you have to stay on your side of the net!” Gretchen said with mock seriousness.

John stopped and raised his eyebrows, “That will be a little difficult, Gretchen.”

“Now, John, you know the rules of the game,” Gretchen chided.

“Alright, then. I’ll serve.” John took the two wine glasses out of his back pocket and set them on the ground. He loosened the wire cage on the cork as he asked, “So, have you had a chance to go out on the water yet? The weather is lovely this time of the year.”

Gretchen nodded. “Mmhm. Daddy has a few boats on the east coast, although I much prefer sailing off California.”

John handed her a glass, and raised his own. “Cheers.”

“Cheers!” Gretchen giggled.

An hour and a half (and several glasses) later. Gretchen was swaying worrisomely. John hadn’t realized how much she must have drank beforehand. Or how low her tolerance was. Either way, it looked like John’s night was not going to end the way he had intended. When she leaned forward in a manner intended to be flirtatious, and became tangled in the net instead, John knew it was time for Ms. Van Horn to go home and sleep it off. After some convincing, Gretchen agreed to leave the tennis court with him. As they walked, it soon became apparent that Gretchen was in even worse shape than John had initially thought. She’d taken two tumbles already. When John saw Harry sitting by the pool, having a cigarette, he felt relieved.

“Hullo, Harry, do you mind sitting here with Ms. Horn while I go get the car to drive her home?”

Harry sighed, but nodded. “Sure thing brother.”

“Thank you! I really do appreciate it!”

Gretchen hiccuped.

Without Gretchen, John was able to walk very quickly to the garage, even with his limp. As he approached, he noticed that something was wrong. He could hear a rumbling, and once he got within a couple of meters, he realized that it was the sound of cars running. Many cars.

Breaking into a jog, he shouted, “Holmes! Holmes! What’s going on in there?” When he pushed up one of the doors and saw that all eight of the Watson’s cars were running. John took off his jacket and used it to cover his nose and mouth as he began to turn off the cars. After he reached the third one, he heard a coughing noise and spun around. Looking up, he tried to determine what direction it had come from. He heard it again. Muffled this time, as if someone was holding their hand over their mouth. He looked towards the sound and saw a foot disappearing behind a back tire.

“Who’s that?” John shouted as he hurried over to where the person was hiding. “Sherlock?! Come out of there!”

It was Sherlock. Crouched behind the car, coughing. “Sherlock! Come out of there! What were you doing?"

Sherlock looked like he was about to answer, but started coughing again instead. John grabbed the young man under each armpit and yanked him up into a position that bore some resemblance to standing. With perhaps a bit more force than required.

“Come on, out of here.” John said, dragging a stumbling Sherlock out of the garage. John directed Sherlock towards the open door. He asked again. “What were you thinking Sherlock?”

“It was an experiment.” Sherlock made an attempt to support his own weight.

“Experiment?! For a smart young man, that was incredibly foolish! What the hell type of experiment involves starting all the motors and closing all the doors?”

“I didn’t want to disturb anyone.” Sherlock glanced at the floor.

“Oh for God’s sake! You might never have disturbed anyone ever again."

A few feet outside the garage, they stopped. “Here, take a deep breath. That’s it.” Sherlock complied, inhaling and exhaling slowly but deeply. Suddenly, his eyelids fluttered. John caught him as he fell forward limply. Sighing, John picked up the unconscious boy and began to carry him up the stairs to the apartment over the garage Sherlock shared with his brother.

 _Gretchen!_ John suddenly remembered the reason he had been going into the garage in the first place. He decided that he should stay with Sherlock until he came to, and then go back down and get a car and pick up Gretchen from where he had left her with his sister. _I haven’t had this many patients dropping around me since the war_ , he thought.

When they reached the door of the apartment, John knocked, and called out “Holmes?” When he did not hear an answer, he pushed on the door and found it to be unlocked. John could not help looking around. He had never had a reason to enter the chauffeur’s quarters before. There was a tea set sitting out. The walls were covered in bookshelves which were filled with with serious looking hard back volumes. The space between the twin windows which was the only portion of the walls of the small sitting room that did not have a bookshelf had a painting of some gentlemen on a fox hunt. It struck him as very English. Not that he had ever really been to England.

John deposited the incapacitated Sherlock on the settee and perched himself on the edge to get a better look at his patient. Sherlock groaned and rubbed his head but stopped when he opened his eyes and saw John staring down at him.

“You passed out,” John answered before Sherlock said anything.

Sitting up quickly and moving his legs away from where John was seated, Sherlock said, “I’m all right. You can go now.”

John felt his temper rising. “Oh, should I have left you alone in there? I would have thought with all those textbooks, you would have read somewhere about carbon monoxide!” Sherlock looked genuinely frightened of John for a moment, but John did not care. He continued, “Do you know what would have happened if I hadn’t come along?”

“I would have died,” Sherlock said flatly, looking somewhere over John’s shoulder.

“And damn fast too with right cars running. It’s a good thing I was just leaving with Ms. Van Horn.”

Sherlock’s gaze snapped to meet John’s.

“She’s not feeling well.” John’s demeanor dared Sherlock to question the story. Finally, he rose. “I have to get going, but I will send someone to look in on you.” As he left, he added, “Anyways, next time you turn on a car, open the door. Honestly, the smartest person on the estate and you almost killed yourself with stupidity.”

John hurried down the stairs into the garage and got into the closest car. As he turned the ignition, a unbidden thought entered his mind. Sherlock couldn’t possibly have been that foolish. Then why would he have done something like that if he had known how dangerous the exhaust would be? No, that’s not possible. Boys were supposed to be excited about going off to college. But then again, Sherlock was hardly the typical teenager. He pulled up to where Harry was waiting with Gretchen, and Harry helped Gretchen into the passenger seat.

“Harry, I’m sorry to bother you again, but do you mind looking in on the Holmes kid? He got himself sick from car fumes. Probably best if someone sat with him for a bit.”

“That’s not a problem. You know I hate this kind of thing anyways.” Harry gestured towards the party that was continuing behind them.

“Thank you Harry -- I will make it up to you somehow.” John said as a he pulled out of the driveway.


	2. The Baroness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a London education.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. Sorry this update took so long! I had a couple other things competing for my creative energy and I also really didn't like my first attempt at this chapter. 
> 
> If anyone wants to Beta, I am still looking.

_Brother,_

_Contrary to what you promised, my classmates are slow and dull. My first weeks at university have proven extremely boring. I’ve determined that attending lecture is a waste. I do not need to hear the same material repeated out loud after I have already read it._

_I left an experiment behind the western stables. Please see to it that it does not become a problem._

__\- SH_ _

~~~

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Thank you for notifying me of your safe arrival in London. I am sure you will be pleased to know that we were able to contain the spread of the fungus before it did any permanent structural damage._

_Please be aware that my financial support is dependent on your satisfactory progress in a course of study._

__\- M_ _  

~~~

_Sherlock,_

_Angelo would like to pass along his regards. A new modern stove was installed this week and that has put him in high spirits._

_As for the family, unfortunately, the elder Mr. Watson had a bit of a health scare and has decided to reduce his role in the company in favor of the son. In happier news, Harriet had some success in a recent amateur golf tournament._

_\- M_

* * *

Although school had proved to be a disappointment, there were other positive aspects to living on London. Sherlock could stay up all hours playing the violin or reading or conducting his own experiments now that he was no longer sharing the cramped chauffeur’s quarters with Mycroft (he did not have a roommate, thank goodness). Restless energy would often take him throughout the city. Sherlock became familiar with London’s parks and shops and tunnels. When he had once be confined to observing the goings-on of the Watson Estate, he now had a whole city to study. He practiced the methods of deduction his brother had taught him when he had been a child.

It was on one of those afternoons that Sherlock found himself watching an undercover policeman watching some low level criminals. The policeman was so obvious that Sherlock was sure that his quarry had also spotted him. His clothing was too nondescript. His posture too alert. And he clearly wasn’t actually reading the paper in front of him. Sherlock watched as the pair of ne’er-do-wells communicated silently to each other from across the park that their handoff would have to wait until another time. Long after they had left, the policeman remained, unaware that the operation had failed. Sherlock told himself it was boredom which compelled him to approach the officer and tell him what he was doing wrong. The first time he told him to bugger off, but by the fourth time, when Sherlock accurately determined who the man they were looking was, and the police caught him with the goods still on his person, Lestrade started to listen.

* * *

_Sherlock,_

_I have been informed of your recent collaboration with the metropolitan police. While I am pleased that your abilities are being used in the pursuit of justice, I am concerned that you have not been devoting time to your studies._

__\- M_ _

  _~~~_

_Mycroft,_

_I am not sure what you hoped to accomplish by contacting Inspector Lestrade. You realize you that you cannot make civil servants and other government employees do your bidding anymore? Kindly stay out of my life, brother mine._

__\- S_ _

_~~~_

_Sherlock,_

_I am pleased to see that you have passed your first semester of courses. However, I expect that you will not receive any low marks next semester._

_This “consulting detective” business has gone on too long._

__\- M_ _

_~~~_

_Brother,_

_I would appreciate if you could send me a collection of American periodicals from the past several months in the areas of politics and business. I want to keep informed of developments in the States while I am here._

__\- SH_ _  

* * *

_Sherlock,_

_I’ve included several periodicals, as you have requested, including the issue of Businessweek which features John Watson on the cover. I assume this was the reason for your request. I had thought you were over this infatuation._

_I hope that you take advantage of this opportunity to better yourself, Sherlock. London has a host of opportunities for a young and intelligent man. My old contact tell me that you haven’t taken any of them up on their offers to show you around and introduce you into polite society._

__\- M_ _

* * *

Despite the accounts he gave his brother, in his third year, Sherlock did meet one interesting classmate. It was during the lab portion of a class. Unlike the lectures, in order to pass, Sherlock had to appear in person. Sherlock would have been bored out of his mind if he had not been partnered with the only other student in the group who was not an idiot. (Why did they need to spend several days on basic procedures? It was as spending the first week at the Le Cordon Bleu learning how to crack eggs)

She had caught his attention immediately. She differed in every way from the rest of Sherlock’s classmates--so different in fact that she was almost impossible to deduce initially. He had no exemplar with which to base his deductions. She was female. She was older (mid-thirties). Her accent was infuriatingly generic. And money did not appear to be an issue for her, if her bag and shoes were any indication. He eventually surmised that she was recently widowed, which accounted for her freedom and ability to afford a place at the university. It did not explain however why she had chosen to use that fresh freedom and money on a science degree. “To what end?” he wondered. She had no interest in the young men in the class despite her habit of wearing dramatic red lipstick. He eventually learned her name, Irene Dacre (née Adler) and that she was a dowager Baroness.

For the first few days, their conversations did not stray from what was necessary to complete their work. On the second week Sherlock arrived at the lab and was aghast to discover he had never put the agar plates in the incubator. He had no data. He was standing silently, cursing his forgetfulness, when he realized the Baroness was standing behind him. Sherlock stiffened and tried to prepare a retort to any observation she could make about his failure.

“I’ve been watching you.”

Sherlock turned round and fixed her with what he hoped was an intimidating stare. She showed no sign of intimidation.

“Your mind has been somewhere else.”

“That’s hardly--”

“You’re in love.”

Sherlock hadn’t expected that. He remained silent.

“And I’ll venture a step further. You’re unhappy in love.”

Sherlock hoped his face didn’t confirm that she was correct.  

“When one is happily in love, one forgets to check their agar plates.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows incredulously. He didn’t think that was a reliable way to deduce that someone was in experiencing romantic attraction.

She smiled. “I’ve found in my old career it was essential to be able to read people.”

Sherlock huffed. “I will get over it.”

“‘Get over it?’ Love is not a cold dear.”

“No, but it is a weakness. Sentiment is a weakness.”

“Ah well--I am sure it would be quite another story for you if you learned to use what you have to your best advantage.” She continued. "Do you even know what wonderful cheekbones you have? Speaking of which. I believe you could be of assistance to me. _If_ you’re interested.”

Sherlock thought. On one hand, he did not like that she had been able to read him like that. He did not like feeling exposed when similar methods were deployed against him. Sherlock had believed that because he was so good at deducing other people that he would be able to avoid showing any “tells” that he didn’t want to. But apparently he was wrong. On the other hand, the Baroness was interesting. What was the worst that could happen?

“Well. That depends on the favor” Sherlock answered.

“Oh don’t worry. Nothing too frightening.” She grinned. “I need an escort to the opera tomorrow evening. My usual companion is unavailable.”

Sherlock _did_ like some opera. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

“The opera?”

“Oh. It’s a double feature. One is ‘Pagliacci.’ The other has slipped my mind. Something else Italian.”

“Alright.”

“Excellent. I will meet you at two.”

“Isn’t that a little early?”

“Well, we’ll need to get you to stop looking like a sheep dog.”

“A sheep dog?”  
  
The baroness reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “Your cheekbones might be divine but the rest of you is a work in progress.” Affronted, Sherlock tried to come up with a response, but before he could, she leaned forward and put a finger over his lips. “If love’s an illness, the only cure I know it a good haircut and a new dress.” Stepping back and looking at him, she continued, “In your case, I suppose it will have to be a new suit.”

_~~~_

True to her word, the next day the baroness sent a car to collect Sherlock at his apartment. When he opened the door, she was seated inside. “Hello Sherlock. We will be visiting the tailor’s first, then the salon to do something with your hair, and then dinner? That should give them some time to finish any alterations.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I have a soft spot for love sick puppies? Because I need tall, handsome and mysterious young man on my arm tonight and you’re the best option I have at such short notice? Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. I’m involved.” Sherlock considered. “You have a mark--you need to get on her good side, and you thought I would be her type. You’re frustrated that your usual methods are no use here.  And it’s not blackmail, since you already have enough money that you don’t need to stoop to that sort of thing. Anymore. And it isn’t personal. You wouldn’t be so quick to get a third party involved if that were the case.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, you see a lot.”

“I merely observe.”

“In that case, I will allow you to figure it out for yourself. Although I will make it worth your while.”

“I don’t….”

“One thousand pounds. The first five hundred up front. The second after the successful completion of my objective.”

“Make it two.”

“Done.”

Sherlock realized he could have asked for more.

“And here we are,” she said as they arrived at the tailors.

_~~~_

Several hours later, Sherlock was looking at himself in a mirror in the guest room of the Baroness's London flat. He conceded (internally) that she had been right. A haircut and a well tailored suit did make a difference. He didn’t look like the strange boy who lived above the Watson’s garage. He could be anyone. He realized he was standing up straighter too. He also wondered how much the baroness had had to pay the tailor to do the alterations that quickly. She also hadn’t just bought him the outfit he’d wear that night (a white tie tuxedo) but several other suits for various occasions.

The Baroness appeared behind him in the mirror. “Ready?”

When they arrived, Sherlock found that he mostly could remain a silent presence as Irene directed them towards people she wished to talk to, something that Sherlock was grateful of. He answered some questions about how he was finding London, his studies, etc. and his efforts at approximating a sociable response seemed to be accepted. And fortunately, when they inquired about where he was from, he could name the right neighborhood, and they came to their own conclusions. First they spoke to some bankers (boring). Then some lawyers (boring and balding). Then an actress (somewhat interesting, a functional alcoholic).There was still no sign of whoever it was the Baroness was trying to get the attention of by using him as bait.

The lights flickered, and they made their way to their seats for the first act. As they did, a well-dressed man with striking eyes noticed the Baroness and nodded, his eyes briefly resting on Sherlock before passing them in the hall.

During intermission, they made their way back to the foyer. Sherlock found that he was in a good mood. The Baroness’s company was tolerable. The music had been excellent (there really was no comparison between a phonograph and the real thing, although he’d had to close his eyes since the sweaty tenor had been rather distracting). He acquiesced without protest when she looked at him expectantly and asked, “Oh, please be a good boy and fetch me a drink?”

As he took his place among the people gathered round the bar, he realized that the person standing in front of him was the same man who had nodded earlier. Acting his new theory that the Baroness had intended to use him to make this man jealous, he observed him more closely. The man’s hair was slicked back with considerable hair product. He looked to be in his early thirties, some sun damage but no calluses indicated a life of leisure with summers on the mediterranean. He was rather fit as well. Sherlock could tell by the man’s body language that he was aware that Sherlock was behind him, or at least was more aware of the presence of the person behind him than was typical for some other reason.  He had most likely seen him talking to the Baroness and had turned away when Sherlock had headed in the direction of the bar. The man finished ordering his drink and turned to rest his elbow on the counter as the bartender made his drink and smiled at Sherlock.

“Hello, there!”

“Good evening.”

“Sorry to be impertinent, but I saw you with Irene and I wanted to introduce myself. Ben Churchfield at your service.” He extend his arm and Sherlock shook it.

“Sherlock. Please to meet you.” Ben’s manner was carefully calculated to make him appear open and friendly, but Sherlock could deduce that he was anything but casual about this interaction. Mr. Churchfield’s eyes watched him closely and his smile remained fixed.

“So, how do you know Irene?”

“We met at University.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. I heard she had a notion to take up some chemistry or something. Irene does get some funny ideas you know. Is she really still going at it.” At that, the bartender got Ben’s attention and he turned around to get his drink.

“Microbiology”

“Hmmm?” Ben said without turning around.

“She’s pursuing a course in microbiology.”

The bartender looked at Sherlock expectantly, and Sherlock gave his order. When he finished, the man was still there. Sherlock decided that he should probably earn his keep and continue to talk to this man, who was important to the Baroness for some reason. Sherlock approximated an attentive and admiring smile and a socially acceptable response. “How do _you_ know the Baroness, then?”

“Oh, we run in the same circles. I think I met her at some tedious party in Soho.” The bartender handed Sherlock his drinks.  “We shouldn’t keep your date waiting.” Ben said with a smile. “But if the two of you don’t have any plans after this is over, you’re welcome to come back to my place. I’ve just gotten some fabulous bottles of dessert wine.”

“That does sound lovely.” Sherlock said, mirroring Ben’s expression. “If you’ll let me ask my companion.” He turned to make his way back to where the Baronesses was waiting. As he approached her, she smiled. “Thank you Sherlock.”

“Hello Irene.”

“Nice to see you Ben.”

“I was just talking to Sherlock here, and if you’re amenable, I wonder if I couldn’t tempt you with a nice _Eiswein_ after this over.”

“I will give you credit for knowing how to best tempt me.”

They both smiled at some private joke. Sherlock noted the reaction, although he did not know its basis. The Baroness was unlikely to have a reputation for overindulging, and even less likely to laugh about it.

Ben shifted on his heels. “Well, that’s settled then. Do you still have my address Irene? We should just meet there instead of trying to find each other in the crowd.”

“That would be agreeable,” she responded.

After Ben took his leave of Sherlock and the Baroness, Sherlock turned and asked quietly, “So that’s the reason I am here?”

“Perceptive.”

As the second opera started, Sherlock was still considering the interactions with Ben. He had deduced that he had been brought along to get Ben’s attention. The obvious explanation was that the Baroness wanted to make him jealous. She did not seem like someone who would put so much effort into such a thing. He supposed he would have to wait a little longer before he could determine the ultimate purpose.

_~~~_

When they arrived outside Ben’s home, Sherlock had still not solved the puzzle. A butler opened the door for them and showed them into the room where Ben was seated.

“Thank you George. If you could bring the drinks out now, please,” Ben said with a wave of his hand. “Please sit down you two,” he said and turned to Sherlock, “Now, Sherlock,” I don’t believe I know where in the States you’re from.”

“Long Island. The North Shore.”

Ben proceeded to list several people and asked if Sherlock knew them, which Sherlock did, although he did not correct his assumption by saying that he was the brother of a chauffeur. Talk then turned to some mutual acquaintances shared by Ben and the Baroness, and Sherlock was free to observe.

Eventually, the Baroness excused herself to powder her nose. As soon as she had left, Ben stood and beckoned Sherlock. “I have something to show you that I believe you might be interested in.”

Still trying to discern the purpose of his presence there that night, Sherlock stood and followed him. Ben led them into his study. “You’re a musician, Sherlock?” 

“Yes.”  
  
“Well, this violin happens to be quite old. Early 19th century. Been in the family for half that time but I confess I haven’t a musical bone in my body.”

“May I?” Sherlock asked and approached the desk where the violin’s case was lying.

“Be my guest.”

Sherlock bent forward to open the case. As he pressed on the latches, he felt Ben’s hand on his side. Ben was standing much closer than necessary, or within the bounds of social norms. Sherlock found himself leaning back into the contact.

“Do you know how… irresistible you are, Sherlock?”

Sherlock turn around. One of Ben’s hands found their way to his back. Sherlock was now quite aware that his assumptions about his role in the Baronesses evening must have been wrong. Ben ran a finger down Sherlock’s chest then lifted it to touch the side of Sherlock’s face and tip his head back. Sherlock did not like Ben Churchfield. He thought that he was vain and arrogant. But he also felt an acute awareness of everywhere Ben was touching him and did not want him to stop. Sherlock let out a sudden gasp when Ben’s mouth settled on his neck. Ben pulled him tighter towards him as he continued to suck on Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock realized he was fisting the back of Ben’s suit. Ben closed the distance between them and Sherlock felt Ben’s erection pressing against Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock froze, contemplating for the first time where Ben expected this to go.

Ben must have sensed the change in Sherlock, and pulled back. “I’m sorry if I misunderstood. I’ve been terribly forward.”  
  
Sherlock felt embarrassed. Like he had been caught pretending to be a grown up. “You didn’t…. It’s alright I….”

Ben sighed, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, leaning on the arm of a sofa opposite the desk. “Yeah, it is all a bit much, coming to terms with it and all. I took you for someone who already knew the game, but I suppose I was mistaken.” He offered Sherlock a cigarette, which Sherlock gratefully took. Sherlock felt shy leaning in to let him light it, which was rather silly, considering.

“Won’t her ladyship be wondering where we are?” asked Sherlock as he exhaled.

“Oh, I doubt she has any confusion on that account. Irene has spent enough time in my circle to know me pretty well. Between Amalfi and several hunting weekends with the Chesters, she must know exactly how much my type you are. It was rather transparent of me to invite the two of you back here,” Ben answered.

Sherlock realized then, of course, what the Baroness’s plan had been. And it was likely that she would wish Ben to remain distracted for a little while longer. With that in mind, he decided to go along with Ben’s train of thought. “So you’ve had… men. Lovers.” He adopted a hesitant affect.

“Yes. Several love affairs, of varying duration and intensity--although none I regret. I can afford to know the right people who know the right people. Don’t let them tell you it’s all doom and gloom. And honestly, women can be so tedious. I would have been absolutely miserable married with a bunch of brats. The bachelor life suits me just fine.” Ben gave Sherlock a small smile. “You’re young, handsome, clever, and have the start of the right connections. You could be having quite the time in London.”  
  
Sherlock resented his patronizing tone, although he could not help but hang on to his every word. Sherlock knew, intellectually, that he was not the only man who preferred other men, but to hear someone speak of it so casually, and with actual experience was something else. Wanting to give the Baroness time to do whatever it was that she had sought to accomplish by dangling him in front of Ben, Sherlock asked him about his previous paramours, and Ben happily told him some rather silly stories about an elderly viscountess’s butler, an actor, several other aristocrats, and even one very uptight lawyer. Two glasses and a decanter emerged from somewhere in Ben’s desk, and Sherlock nursed his drink while his host refilled his own several times. Sherlock made sure to laugh at the parts that were supposed to be funny, since Ben liked that.

After some time, they were interrupted. “I hope you two aren’t laughing at me over there.” The Baroness stood in the doorway.

“Never!” Ben said, affecting an affronted look. “Well, it is getting rather late, I understand if you’d wanting to be getting home, Irene.”

“I’m not young enough to stay up at all hours anymore, it’s true. Although I am sure Sherlock isn’t ready to leave yet, she said with a smile.”

“Well, be that as it may, I do have an early appointment tomorrow. Maybe some other time Sherlock?” Ben said.

“Yes. Certainly,” answered Sherlock.

When Sherlock and the Baroness were alone again in her car (the window between them and the driver rolled up), Sherlock asked, “So, did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes. Proof he’s been passing information. Probably to the Russians.” Looking mischievous, she continued, “I hope you also found what you were looking for as well.”

Sherlock ignored the second statement. “And what will happen then?”

“Nothing yet. They might try to turn him into a double agent, although it’s more likely they will try to trick him into sending false information, and when he’s no longer useful, pick him up.”

Sherlock told himself it was silly to feel sorry for Ben.

* * *

_Brother,_

_I have made the acquaintance of a widow in my microbiology class. She liked me so much she stayed on for the advanced microbiology lab. The Baroness has also undertaken to introduce me to polite London society._

_I’ve included some foreign cookbooks that might be of interest to Angelo._ _  
_

_\- SH_

_~~~_

Sherlock had smiled to himself as he sent his most recent letter and wished he could be there to see his brother’s sequence of reactions to the news and subsequent discoveries about his new acquaintance. The baroness had continued to invite him to social occasions, sometimes even, without an ulterior motive. Between cases with Lestrade and evenings with the Baroness, Sherlock realized that he was actually enjoying London.

_~~~_

_Sherlock,_

_The Dowager Baroness Irene Dacre of Gilsland is a former prostitute. Please desist from your association with that woman immediately._

_\- M_

_~~~_  

_Brother,_

_The term is dominatrix. I’ve attended several operas and exhibitions as her companion. Under her guidance, I’ve also acquired several well tailored suits for various occasions and my hair styling routine which might even be up to your standards. You should be pleased, as I believe you justified sending me away as a means to help me “grow up.”_

__\- SH_ _

_~~~_

_Sherlock,_

_It’s come to my attention that some rather large deposits have been made in your bank account, and that it is the fruits of your association with a certain dowager baroness._

_The woman formerly known as Ms. Adler is not to be trusted. While she has not caused you to accumulate debts--as was her habit with her young and impressionable companions before attracting the attentions of the late baron--I cannot say that I am relieved of my anxiety. I am sure you find her connections to the London underworld exciting, but do not persuade yourself that she will not betray you as she betray the victims of her blackmail._

__-M_ _

___~~~_ _ _

_Sherlock,_

_Congratulations on completing your course of study. I have booked you passage for your return trip. We all look forward to seeing you again. I believe that we can easily find you employment in the city and you can live on the estate until you’ve found yourself a flat._

_-M_

_~~~_

_Brother,_

_I won’t be returning to Long Island or the United States. I am sorry you have wasted your money on tickets. I have become a full time consulting detective. Give my regards to the rest of the staff._

__\- SH_ _

 

 


	3. The Fiancé

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns.

John shifted in his seat and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension in his back beginning creep in even though the day was still early. The weather was good and he had taken the convertible. He was driving himself today--Holmes was taking Mrs. Watson to her hair appointment--and John had chosen the convertible. As much as it made sense for his chauffeur to drive John in the morning so he could work in the car, he found that he did enjoy being able to drive himself from time, especially when the weather was this good. He knew that today was not going to be easy. He wasn’t looking forward to talking to Harry. But he also knew that it was the best option available. His parents were ready to cut her off entirely after the last series of transgressions, and he had used every bit of leverage he had to stop that from happening. But they demanded assurances in return. He did not feel good about it, even though he knew it was for the best. Because honestly, what had she been thinking, making that scene at the races? Or when she had gambled or drank or something-ed away several months of allowance in a week in Florida and needed him to wire money for a ticket back to New York. At least this way there would be someone to look after her. John felt that guilt again. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he had agreed to the whole thing because making her someone else’s problem (again) appealed to him. John did his best to avoid thinking about his family for the rest of the drive into the city. Thinking about Watson Industries was much more pleasant than thinking about the Watsons.

When the elevator opened on his floor, Mrs. Hudson was at her desk in front of his office. “Good morning Mr. Watson. There’s papers from the lawyers for you on your desk. I just put the coffee on. It should be ready in a minute.”

John nodded, but didn’t stop his stride. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson!” he said as the doors to his office closed behind him. He settled into his seat and took the papers out of his inbox and started reviewing the latest draft of the merger agreement. A few minutes late Mrs. Hudson entered with his coffee and some mail which she deposited silently in John’s inbox.

Mrs. Hudson was just leaving when Harry’s voice disrupted his concentration. “I swear John, of all the ridiculous things. You dirty two-faced bastard!”

John saw Mrs. Hudson attempt to stop her from entering. “Miss Watson, I must ask you to make an appointment dear.”

“The hell I need an appointment! I’ll make an appointment to see my brother when he learns to get his nose out of my business!” John’s blood pressure rose and he silently steeled himself for the confrontation he knew was coming. Harry managed to push herself around Mrs. Hudson, and burst into John’s office, newspaper held aloft. “What is this? Engaged to John Garrideb? Don’t think I don’t know who’s behind this.”

Hoping to diffuse the argument, John tried to sound measured and calm as he respond. “You’re right. I planted that gossip item. But hear me out.”

“I don’t have to listen to a word you say.”

“True, but you know as well as I do that I’m the only reason mother and father haven’t cut you off completely. How many times have to thrown away their money and I’ve been the one to convince them to forgive you? How many times have I _believed_ you when you said you were going to cut back on the drinking? Jesus Harry--at least this guy is a good guy. We actually know him unlike those other fellows you bring around. Remember the one we caught with the gardener? And you like Garrideb! Didn’t you just tell me three days ago how much you were looking forward to playing the next mixed doubles tournament with him?”

“TENNIS! I like playing TENNIS with him! That doesn’t mean I want to marry him!” Harry shouted. In the hallway outside John’s office, the secretary pool listened attentively.

John struggled to not respond in kind. He knew that it wouldn’t do to shout back. It was one thing if Harry ranted and raved. It was another if the boss did it. Which is probably why Harry had chosen to come here in the first place. She hadn’t stepped foot in the building in months, despite technically having a position at Watson Industries.” John twisted the hat he was holding in his hands and took two deep breaths. Finally, he manage to say with control, “Look, Harry. I have something to show you.”

Harry stood silently. John pulled down a the screen and pressed a button causing a projector on a side credenza to flicker to life. The images showed a desert with a rocket perpendicular to the ground.

“Where did you get the idea that I would go along with this?” Harry said.

Smoke began to emerge from the bottom of the rocket, and suddenly disappeared from view, leaving a trail behind it. The film switched to a view of the rocket as it traveled through the sky.

“That, is a prototype of a rocket propelled by the most advanced rocket fuel formula. It travels 70% farther than any rocket before it. That formula, with some tweaks, is what is going to allow man to send vessels into space. Maybe even someday to send people into space. And Watson Industries owns the intellectual property. NASA is about to award us a very lucrative contract. But we just need to secure a bauxite supplier.”

“And John Garrideb Junior is the son of the owner of the largest bauxite mining company in the world?”

“Second largest. Actually. The largest doesn’t have a son.”

“This is inhumane John. People don’t just marry off their daughters for cattle or treaties anymore! I won’t do it!”

“Look, Harry, you don’t have to do this, but you’ve reached the end of the line with father’s patience. He’s not going to bankroll your irresponsibility anymore.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock Holmes had successfully not thought about John Watson for several weeks. During the last couple years he’d spent in London, between cases as a consulting detective and his friendship with the Baronesses, Sherlock was too busy to indulge in daydreams about a silly crush from his youth with much frequency. When he did think of John Watson, it was often as a point of comparison--despite himself, he found himself comparing him to other wealthy men he came across in his work, or the stuffy gentlemen that sometimes found their way into the Baronesses milieu. So many rich men thought they owed their position to their own merit, but it was always abundantly clear to Sherlock how they were of only average intelligence. Whereas John Watson owed his position to his birth of course, and knew it, but wasn’t content to be nominally in charge of things. He worked hard and took his responsibilities seriously. As was inevitable due to the bohemian company that the Baronesses attracted, Sherlock had, from time to time, been subjected to the attentions of men, but they all were men of little substance and Sherlock had not taken their interest seriously, although he noted that the Baroness had been correct. He was more attractive than he had originally thought. Something that he did occasionally put to use on cases.

He was on a yacht in the adriatic when he heard John Watson’s name spoken aloud for the first time since he had left Long Island. The yacht was owned by one of the Baroness's newer friends,a young heiress, Jeanette called Jeanie. Sherlock had first met Jeanie in Berlin when he had been helping another one of the Baronesses friends with a delicate problem that did not lend itself to going to the police. Jeanie’s sense of humor and ability as a dance partner quickly made her Sherlock’s favorite out of the other members of the Baroness’s entourage. That day, the Baroness had retired below and Sherlock was lounging on deck was reading a work on edible mediterranean sea life as Jeanie splashed around in the water nearby. Sherlock found his eyelids were becoming heavy, no doubt a result of the champagne he had and the afternoon sun. He was considering whether it might be prudent to also get out of the sun before he fell asleep and woke up sunburned when a shadow fell across him. Sherlock turned and saw it was cast by the Baroness’s large brimmed hat.“Hello Sherlock, I have some news about your old friends Harry and John Watson.”

“The Watsons are not my ‘friends,’” said Sherlock, wondering how long she had known of his connection to the Watson family.

“Well, that’s too bad because Harry could use your help,” she said.

Sherlock sat up as the Baroness sat in the lounge chair next to his. “I don’t see why she would need my help in particular…. or how you came to be involved.

“Well, Harry is a dear old friend of mine actually. Poor dear has had to tow the line if she wants to keep herself from being cut off, but she always has a grand old time when she makes it to the continent.”

Sherlock considered this information and found himself feeling a sudden fondness for Harry. And after all she had always been kind to him despite being several years older and a member of the family that employed his brother. She had even tried to teach him how to roller skate (unsuccessfully). In some ways it made sense that they had this in common as well.

“And now they’ve gone and found her a new fiancé but she is quite certain she is done with all _that_ ,” the Baroness continued. “You’d think they would stop trying to up with _men a_ fter three failed engagements, but some people are stubborn. She can’t be the one to break the engagement, but if Mr. Garrideb were to walk away then she can continue on.”

“And you want me to convince this Mr. Garrideb he should?”

“Yes.”

“You would like me to use my brother’s position to gain access to him seduce him? That’s quite a long shot for the chauffeur's brother.”

“Unfortunately I don’t think he is so inclined. Your job is much simpler than that. You go back and resume a friendship with Harry. And then make sure to be caught by Mr. Garrideb in a compromising position.”

“I doubt Harry would agree to such a--”

“Oh she has already consented. I went ahead and booked your ticket back to the States two days from today. I hope that’s agreeable.”

Sherlock considered protesting, but there wasn’t much point in hanging around Europe if he wasn’t in the Baroness’s good graces. He had neither the bank account or social connections of his own to live the lifestyle to which he had become accustomed, although his consulting detective business brought in a steady stream of cash. Hopefully he could be done with this business quickly and return. And he would like to see Nancy, Angelo and the rest of the staff again.

“Alright.”

“Splendid.”

 

* * *

 

John had taken the convertible and was feeling uncharacteristically relaxed. Preparations for Harry’s wedding were coming along well. The merger was close to closing, pending many lawyer hours. On a whim, John decided he wanted stop and grab a few magazines and a soda. The most convenient place on the route home was small newsstand at the local train station. As he pulled into the station, he saw a man, bending over, routing through his luggage. His suit was tailored well, in a slim, European, style and John couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on what had to be one of the most extraordinary behinds, man or woman’s, that he’d seen in awhile. The round curves of his backside was in contrast to the long lines of his legs. John heard himself exclaim “Well hello!” in a rather friendly fashion before he had even realized that he had spoken at all. The man turned around, looking startled, and when his eyes met John for a second he seemed even more disturbed, but quickly composed himself and responded with a cool “Good afternoon.”

The man’s voice was deep and had a touch of a British accent. His dark curly hair and his cheekbones made him look like some sort of aristocratic figure from a Hollywood picture, but something about him made John Watson realize he knew this man. Oh, but he hadn’t been a man the last time he had seen him! It had been eight years or so, but the man whose derriere he had so admired was none other than the gangly boy who’d lived with Mycroft Holmes!

Quickly hiding his own surprise, John responded. “Oh well if it isn’t the prodigal Holmes come back at last to visit! I didn’t know you were coming! Anyways, let me give you a lift”

Sherlock smiled. “I appreciate it.”

John smiled back. Remembering why he had come to the station in the first place, he got out of the car and opened the trunk. “Let me help you with that and then I am going to pop into the news stand. Would you like anything Sherlock? Soda or some cigarettes.”

“A soda would be fine,” he answered.

“Right then, sit tight and I will be back in a moment.”

As John found what he came for and brought the items to the counter, he replayed the last several moments over in his head. It had been awhile since he’d gone to bed with anyone (and even longer since he’d gone to bed with a man) and evidently it was making him a bit bonkers. Holmes’ kid brother was off limits for ten different reasons and so he needed to extinguish this sudden urge to flirt with him. He didn’t even know if Sherlock was receptive to that sort of overture. He’d even heard some of the staff at the house gossiping that he was the kept man of a dowager Baroness. And besides, taking up with a fellow under his parent’s roof wasn’t worth the risk. Resolved to be a friendly face on the last leg of Sherlock’s trip home--and nothing more--John returned to his car.

Sherlock looked up and look the proffered Coca-Cola from him. “Thank you Mr. Watson.”

“Call me John. Anyways, now you must tell me all about London and what you’ve been up to since you left university.”

Sherlock explained about how he was a consulting detective and John asked him questions. By the end of the ride, Sherlock had recounted several of his cases and John admitted to himself that he was fascinated. What a change from the gangly boy falling out of the trees--this Sherlock had seen every side of London from the underworld to the bohemian to the aristocratic and business elite. It seemed like he would be at home anywhere. As they pulled into the driveway of the estate, Sherlock was finishing a story about a cartel that smuggled stolen artwork when they pulled into the estate.

“Incredible,” said John as he parked the car in front of the garage.

Sherlock looked surprised. He began to say something, but a voice shouted from the kitchen door.

“Sherlock!” It was Angelo who had called out, wiping his hands on his apron as he hurried across the driveway. Other servants soon emerged and followed him. Sherlock got out of the car and was surrounded by the welcoming party. John decided that it was probably best to let Sherlock have his reunion with the servants in peace but thought it would be rude to walk away without taking his leave of Sherlock.

“Well, I’ll be off, but I would love to catch up with an old neighbor. I know it’s probably not much after London and the rest of Europe but how about I take you into the city sometime.”

Sherlock looked rather surprised. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Great,” said John, rocking onto the balls of his feet. “How about I pick you up on Saturday around 6 pm?”

“Oh you can’t do that brother.” Harry said, having walked up behind him as he had been talking to Sherlock. “Saturday is the party remember?”

“Oh yes you’re right Harry. Gee I’m sorry Sherlock, let me look at my calendar and see when I have another night free.”

“You can suffer through a Watson family party I’m sure Sherlock,” said Harry.

Before John could think of a polite way to rescind the invitation his sister had made, Sherlock responded.  “Thank you, I’d be happy to attend.” John could have sworn that there was a flash of smugness in Sherlock’s expression. “As long as I can get the wrinkles out of my suit,” Sherlock continued.

After Sherlock left, John turned to Harry. “What was that about?”

“What? Oh don’t be such a snob John. Besides, if alright for you to take the chauffeur's brother out for a drink, I can hardly see why I can’t invite him to the party.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock let himself into his brother’s apartment and began to unpack in what had been his childhood room. After Sherlock had showered and begun to press his outfit for the night the front door suddenly opened and he heard his voice call out. “Sherlock?”

“Hello Mycroft,” Sherlock said as he emerged into the sitting room holding a had and a bottle of wine. “These are for you. The wine is--”

Mycroft interrupted, “Don’t try to distract me Sherlock. I’ve already heard of your little stunt in the driveway! Accepting Miss Watson’s invitation! Surely she only meant to be polite. You were supposed to decline.”

“It’s good to see you brother. You look well,” Sherlock responded.

Mycroft looked at the ceiling as if he thought the light fixtures might have the answers to how to convince his little brother to start acting reasonably.

“Sherlock, you may have adopted some unusual habits while abroad, but remember I am still employed by the Watson family. Don’t forget that to them, you are only the chauffeur's brother,” Mycroft said. “And if you were thinking of bothering John Watson. Don't.”

“It's not me that's bothering John Watson.” Sherlock replied. “Frankly, he was quite insistent on catching up.  It's _your_ bizarre sense of pride that's causing you  embarrassment, Mycroft, not me.”

For a for a moment Mycroft said nothing. Then he looked directly at Sherlock and said softly, “I just don't want you to get hurt brother mine.”

“Well then  I assure you that won’t be a problem. I've seen what happens to people who fall prey to sentiment. Love is chemical defect found on the losing side,  and I fully intend to win.” said Sherlock.

“Now I don’t like the sound of that,” said Mycroft as Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed the door to his bedroom so he could continue to get ready for the party in peace.

Sherlock regarded himself in the mirror as he tied his bow tie. Seeing himself in his childhood bedroom made obvious to him how much he had changed. Not only was he now 24 and had grown into himself physically, he had learned to carry himself and dress himself to fit in with the leisure class. He began to send a silent prayer of gratitude to the Baroness for the gift of the tuxedo, which certainly showed him off to good effect, but he stopped himself. Because after all he was only in Long Island in the first place was this favor to her, and the only reason it mattered that he looked good was because he needed to be a believable paramour for Miss Watson. Otherwise it didn’t matter to Sherlock what anyone at this party thought of his appearance.

 

 

* * *

 

The first thing John Watson noticed about Sherlock Holmes was how Sherlock’s rear looked even better in his tuxedo. Sherlock was dancing with his back to John. Then Sherlock turn so that John could see his partner. It was Harry. And they were dancing much more closely than was proper between a member of the family and the chauffeur's brother. Much more closely than was proper between an _engaged_ woman and the chauffeur's brother who was rumored to have been the kept man of a baroness who could only be politely described as “eccentric.” John watched as Harry rested her cheek on Sherlock’s. _If Mr. Garrideb sees this it’s going to blow up the whole deal,_ John thought _._ He looked around the dance floor but could not spot his sister’s absent intended. Harry had begun to giggle conspiratorially at something Sherlock had said. He looked again to his mother who was also observing the scene unfolding with barely concealed alarm. John made his way around the edge of the dancers and reached her.

“You must fix this John!” she said through a frozen smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said with resignation. “I’m going to try.” John turned away from his mother and looked back to where they had been dancing. Sherlock and Harry had left the dance floor. John looked around, trying to spot either of them. He saw his sister first. She was speaking to the bandleader. John turned and reached over and took his mother’s glass, full of red wine from her hand. As Harry started to move across the dance floor, John made his way through the dancers as well so that he would intercept her. He positioned himself near the stairs leading down into the garden with his back to Harry and extended his right hand to shake the hand of a man standing there whose name John fortunately remembered. His left hand, holding the red wine glass gestured a smidge too widely, and connected with Harry. John spun around, concern on his face, and produced a handkerchief. Harry responded with automatic assurances to John’s equally empty apologies, both knowing it had been no accident. His mother appeared at Harry’s side. “Oh Harry dear, let me help you get that out. I think Mrs. Turner can help you get that out before it sets in. Harry had no choice but to follow her mother, although not without sending John a parting glare over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

As Sherlock waited for Harry in the indoor tennis courts he realized that this was the most fun he’d had in months even though there was no mystery to solve. Perhaps it was that unlike other cases for Lestrade, or “favors” or the Baroness, here he was acting as himself. It was the boldness of sauntering back into his childhood home and proceed to break rules when he’d received a stern chastisement for simply rollerblading too close to the main house. He concluded that showing up the Watsons and all their pretensions was the most likely answer. The look on Mrs. Watson’s face when she’d seen them dancing! And John’s reaction would hopefully be even better. And of course he had always liked Harry, who’d been kind to him, and had certainly broken plenty of rules herself. In fact, having a _tete a tete_ in the tennis courts had been her idea. A nice touch if they were going for maximum outrage on the part of John Watson. Sherlock, still a bit lost in thought, executed a rather lackadaisical pirouette.

When he came to a stop, he looked across the tennis court to see the wrong Watson sibling watching him. John Watson stood with exaggerated ease, his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, and the least friendly smile imaginable on his face. “Bit late for tennis, isn’t it?”

“If you installed lights Dr. Watson, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

John’s laugh startled Sherlock. “Oh you’re something Sherlock Holmes. Now, tell me, what do you think you’re playing at.”

“I imagine it should be clear to you of all people.” Sherlock said, gesturing at their surroundings.

“You saw a lot from that tree.”

“Yes.”

“And now? How do you think this is going to go?”

“You’re going to try to buy me off.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I deduce that your opening offer will be somewhere around five thousand dollars, but your upper limit is around twenty thousand.”

“Hmm.”

“But I won’t take it.”

“Why?”

"I could never give up Harry. I cannot assign a value to her regard.” Sherlock said, doing his best to look affronted.

John had been stepping closer to Sherlock as the conversation had continued. He halted his forward progress and sighed. “I was afraid of that.” Just then, the note of _Isn’t it Romantic_ began to drift into the indoor tennis court. John gave a short laugh. “Oh Harry and her jokes.”

Sherlock made as if to leave, but John stepped forward, blocking him. “No, I don’t think so.” He was still smiling, but John made no effort to mask the menace in his unbroken eye contact. “We’ve been terrible hosts. I know I’m not my sister, but please allow me.”

Sherlock realized that John Watson had grasped his right hand while his other arm was snaking around Sherlock’s back. Sherlock slowly made sense of what was happening. _Oh_ . _We’re dancing_.

John spoke again. “Look. Holmes. ‘Sherlock,’ I guess if you’re going to be courting my sister. I like you, and I know you’re a good fellow. But Harry, I don’t know what exactly she hopes to achieve here, but I can tell you she doesn’t care a fig about who she hurts in the meantime, and that includes you.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to defend Harry, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t sound like a blatant lie to John. The fact that John was simultaneously leading him around the court wasn’t helping. John had obviously meant to catch him off guard and intimidate him with his boldness, and it was working.

“Because I like you Sherlock, I am going to give you some advice. Think carefully before you do something you can’t take back. Because it’s never people like Harry who end up with the consequences.”

Sherlock allowed himself a wry smile. “I know.”

“Good good.” They came to a stop and John released Sherlock’s hand to grab Sherlock’s cheek. “There’s a smart lad.” And John planted an exaggerated kiss on Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock’s mouth hung open dumbly. He raised his hand to touch his cheek but stopped himself at the last moment. When Sherlock remembered the encounter afterwards, he knew he must have looked shocked at that moment. If John’s forwardness previously had tested his ability to keep up the charade of courting Harry, this temporarily blasted it all to pieces. _Think Sherlock. This isn’t that. John has every reason to try to intimidate him. And no reason to try to suddenly woo him._

“It’s all in the family.” John said by way of explanation. He clapped him on the back and strode out of the tennis court leaving Sherlock alone in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the phrase "power move" seems to be anachronistic for a late 40ish setting, but a gangster sort of intimidating kiss is apparently not. My google history is interesting. 
> 
> Reviews are MUCH appreciated.


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